


A Knife With A Serrated Edge

by JuliaJekyll



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel/Demon Relationship, Anger, Angry Kissing, Angst and Fluff and Smut, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Biting, Blanket Permission, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enthusiastic Consent, Historical References, Holy Water, Language, Light Dom/sub, Love, Love Bites, M/M, Married Couple, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Neck Kissing, Original Character(s), World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-06-27 22:28:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19799041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuliaJekyll/pseuds/JuliaJekyll
Summary: You don't know someone for six thousand years without hurting them at some point. A few times when Crowley and Aziraphale hurt each other, and how they healed the hurt later on.Chapter One - We all know about the time Crowley walked into a church to save Aziraphale. This is about the time Aziraphale walked into a church to save Crowley.





	1. Divine Fury

The air in the city of London was cold, and the atmosphere was tense, as well it might be. January 1943 had not been a pleasant month, and it was only about two-thirds done. The whole city, or what was left of it, seemed to be waiting for the next air raid or school bombing – both of which had occurred in the past week alone. Nothing had changed about the human capacity for cruelty in the last six millennia, except that it now had more deadly and high-tech outlets.

  
It was one-thirty in the morning, and the city was asleep – well, probably not asleep, as most people were too afraid to sleep, but quiet – and a man-shaped being in a dark suit and sunglasses was doing laps around a church. This might have looked suspicious if there’d been anyone around to see it, but as it was, the being was alone.

  
Anthony J. Crowley pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head. It was so dark outside – thanks to the blackout curtains in nearly every house – that he could barely see with them on, and he definitely needed his eyes for this. He continued his restless pacing, eyeing the church with trepidation. He kept telling himself that he was casing the joint – making sure he knew the building well, had taken note of every possible entrance and exit – but that wasn’t it; the truth was that he was stalling. Although he wanted the holy water, he really, _really_ didn’t want to enter the church. Just being near it made him uncomfortable, and he knew from experience that it would be worse once he was past the threshold.

  
It was times like this that he rather resented angels, who, as far as he was aware, had no similar limitations just by dint of being angels. He was pretty sure that the only things angels couldn’t do that demons could was go through hellfire, and how often did _that_ come in useful in daily life? Not fucking very.

  
Trying to get the holy water himself was, he knew, an exceedingly stupid idea, but Aziraphale had refused to get it for him, and he was getting desperate. He’d considered asking Livinia, his closest demon friend, if she would help him, but he’d dismissed the idea almost immediately. If Crowley was going to go down, he wasn’t going to take her with him. He liked her too much for that.

  
_“I’m not bringing you a suicide pill, Crowley,”_ Aziraphale had said, eighty-one years ago now. Crowley shook his head, not wanting to dwell on thoughts of the angel. He didn’t _want_ to kill himself; he rather liked being alive, but failing today could be suicide of another kind. He’d never been a particularly _orthodox_ demon, and he had a feeling that one day, Hell would figure that out. And then they’d come for him. He wanted something he could fight back with. He wanted not to feel so _vulnerable_.

  
Crowley took a deep breath, steeling himself. The last time he’d gone into a church, it had been easy. He’d barely thought about the pain; all that had been on his mind was that he had to save Aziraphale. Aziraphale had a truly remarkable way of distracting Crowley from all his other concerns, because Crowley had loved the angel for longer than he cared to admit even to himself.

  
But now wasn’t the time to think about that.

  
Crowley began to gear up. He’d come prepared this time: on his feet were a pair of heavy-duty military boots, and he had thick winter gloves to protect his hands. He planned to steal the water with a big ladle and put it into a canteen, also heavy-duty. If he got splashed, well…a drop or two wouldn’t be enough to kill him. It would hurt like the dickens, but he wouldn’t die. He had to remember that.

  
He took another deep breath and walked up to the church.

* * *

_Half an hour earlier_

  
“Yes, yes,” Aziraphale said distractedly into the phone. “Of course it’s a first edition; I don’t stock anything less. No, I absolutely will not deliver it; you’ll have to come and get it at my shop.” He gave the caller the address, and the man hung up without saying goodbye.

  
“Right,” Aziraphale muttered, and put the phone down. These eccentric collectors were lucky that he neither needed nor desired sleep. It was one in the morning, for Heaven’s sake.

  
Aziraphale sank down into his desk chair, took off his spectacles, and rubbed his eyes. He felt drained; utterly emotionally drained. While he didn’t have to be afraid of dying in a bombing or an attack the way humans did, he hated watching them kill each other, and in such horrific ways. He did miracles where he could, to help them out, but stopping the carnage completely was well beyond his capabilities, and the apparently endless atrocities of the war were taking their toll on him.

  
Aziraphale desperately wished that Crowley were here right now. Their relationship was the most emotionally intimate one Aziraphale had, and he felt like he could use a bit of emotional closeness right now.

  
Physical closeness wouldn’t have hurt either, he supposed. Aziraphale felt heat creep up his neck as he tried not to think of the way Crowley’s throat had looked with that tight shirt collar around it the last time he’d seen him. Gorgeous, kissable, and unreachable. With an embarrassed cough, he reached up to loosen his tie, which was suddenly feeling far too restrictive.

  
The last time he’d seen Crowley, after the church bombing in 1941, Crowley had driven him home, and Aziraphale had spent the entire drive alternating between staring at the satchel of his books that Crowley had saved for him, and staring at Crowley. His heart had been pounding, and his veins rushing with so much affection for the demon sitting next to him that he hadn’t been able to make conversation or even thank him. He’d scarcely been able to believe that someone _cared_ for him that much.

  
If Aziraphale had experienced any _other_ feelings, like a strong desire to demand that Crowley stop the car so that he could rip the stupid hat off his gorgeous head and kiss him until nothing mattered, well, it was best not to think too hard about them, lest he fall prey to the sin of lust.

  
_“Well, I’ll be getting on, then,”_ Crowley had said when they’d reached the bookshop, fidgeting a little, eyes seeming to burn a hole in Aziraphale even through the sunglasses. _“See you around, I suppose, angel?”_

_“Yes,”_ Aziraphale had stammered. _“Naturally. Indeed. Of course. Goodbye, dear boy. Good luck.”_

  
_“And to you.”_

  
Aziraphale pushed a hand through his hair. Perhaps he ought to look Crowley up. They lived in the same city, after all.

  
While he was thinking about Crowley, the sense that the demon was in danger hit Aziraphale with the force of one of those new anti-aircraft guns the humans had invented. He was instantly alert, sitting up straight in his chair, shutting his eyes, pressing his hands to his head, concentrating on the demon. He’d been keeping angelic tabs on him for a long time, of course, nearly since the Beginning, but now all he could feel was that the demon needed help. He focused all of his power on Crowley, on finding out where he was, on learning what he was doing, and –

  
Oh.

  
Oh no.

  
Aziraphale’s eyes shot open. “Crowley, you _fucking idiot_ ,” he nearly hissed through gritted teeth. With inhuman speed, he stood up, grabbed his coat, and rushed out the door, not even remembering to lock the shop behind him.

* * *

The military boots did help a little. Crowley still couldn’t stop shifting from one foot to the other, trying to escape the pain, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been last time, when he’d worn only his dress shoes. Instead of feeling like being on a beach in bare feet, the sensation was now comparable to being on a beach in very thin, low-quality flip-flops.

  
He stared into the holy water. Just the essence of the stuff gave him a light sensation of burning, rather like when you stuck your hand above a pot of boiling soup. He flexed his fingers as best he could inside the gloves, breathing deeply through his nose, gathering his courage.

  
“Well,” he murmured. “Here goes.” He was about to withdraw the ladle when he heard the church doors open, and he jumped nearly half a meter directly backwards, away from the holy water.

  
“Crowley!” shouted a voice that Crowley immediately recognized, despite the fact that it was full of uncharacteristic rage. He turned around. Aziraphale was striding down the aisle, his face contorted in anger, a glow of righteous indignation seeming to emanate from him, so bright that it made Crowley squint. Although Crowley had never seen the angel so furious before (had he _ever_ seen him furious, come to think of it?) he couldn’t help but be happy to see him. He never could.

  
“Aziraphale?” he sputtered, as the angel stopped in front of him, practically quivering with fury.

  
Aziraphale got directly in his face, and Crowley flinched slightly, but he didn’t step back.

  
“What the hell are you _thinking_?” Aziraphale demanded, seeming to loom over Crowley even though Crowley was taller. “What are you _doing_? Do you have _any_ idea how bloody dangerous this is? Do you know what could _happen_ to you, you-”

  
“Yes, angel, of course I-”

  
_“Don’t interrupt me!”_ Aziraphale bellowed, looking as if he were seconds away from grabbing Crowley by the throat and strangling him. “This is the most idiotic, ridiculous, _stupid_ thing you’ve ever done, you selfish _bastard_ , and I’m going off _six thousand years_ of material. What kind of a death wish do you have, Crowley? _Answer me!_ ” His eyes blazed as he stared Crowley down, and Crowley hastened to reply.

  
“I don’t have a death wish, angel,” he said. “I want to be able to _defend_ myself! Is that so terrible?”

  
“You don’t _think_ , do you?” Aziraphale cried. “You saunter in here, bloody fool that you are, with nary a thought about how you destroying yourself might affect-” his voice broke, and he stared at the floor for a moment. In doing so, he seemed to notice the awkward, painful tap dance that Crowley was still doing, and his face softened. “Come on,” he said, in a calmer tone. “Let’s get you out of here.”

  
“Aziraphale-”

  
“Come,” Aziraphale said, using the full weight of what he liked to call his Principality Voice. Crowley winced and followed him out of the church.

  
As soon as they emerged back into the freezing January air, Aziraphale seemed to compose himself, breathing deeply and turning to Crowley with a more neutral expression. “I…apologize, dear boy. That was uncalled for.” He smoothed his hair, shifting his weight self-consciously. “I just…you terrified me. I felt that you were in danger, and when I realized what you were doing, I…” his voice failed him yet again, and he shook his head. “Crowley, please, promise me you won’t do that again.”

  
“I’m…sorry I scared you, angel,” Crowley said. His body was buzzing with adrenaline, and he badly wanted to reach out and touch Aziraphale. “But if you would have helped me when I asked you to, I wouldn’t have had to-”

  
“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, voice cracking, “can’t you see that I don’t want to lose you?”

  
They stared at each other for a moment as Crowley let that sink in. His heart pulsed in his chest, slow and deliberate, spreading a tentatively hopeful warmth through him. “I’m sorry, angel,” he said again, not knowing what else to say.

  
Aziraphale stepped closer to him, his eyes on fire again. “Promise me,” he said, his voice low and serious.

  
Crowley swallowed. “I can’t promise you that I’ll stop trying to get hold of holy water.”

  
“Then at least promise me you won’t do it by yourself.”

  
Crowley bit his lip, then nodded slowly. “I promise.”

  
Aziraphale looked relieved. “Thank you.” He didn’t step away from Crowley, and Crowley felt heat rush to his face.

  
Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Will you let me…take you back to the bookshop?”

  
“Are you sure?” Crowley forced a laugh. “I can definitely promise I won’t be going back in there as soon as you leave me. You don’t need to watch over me, angel.”

  
“Yes,” Aziraphale said seriously. “I do.” He held one hand out to Crowley. “Come back with me? Please?”

  
Crowley hesitated only for a moment before he placed one gloved hand in Aziraphale’s. “Ok,” he said, and they began the walk to his car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoying the fic? Let me know! :)


	2. An Angel's Kiss on a Demon's Lips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale's anger is a turn-on for Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first attempt at writing ineffable smut! Please do let me know how I did. Happy reading!

Aziraphale’s wedding ring shone in the early morning light after its recent cleaning. Crowley loved the fact that he cleaned it regularly; that he took care of it so well. He didn’t think he would ever get used to seeing it on his hand, signaling to absolutely everyone that Aziraphale was a married man (or man-shaped being), displaying his commitment to Crowley before anyone even asked.

  
Having recently rolled out of bed, Crowley watched Aziraphale’s left hand as his husband moved through the bookshop, preparing it for the day’s customers. They’d had a few drinks there the previous evening, and Aziraphale, who still didn’t sleep much, had miracled a rather nice bed for Crowley when he’d passed out.

  
It was only eight, which was early for Crowley to be awake, but he didn’t want to go back to bed, since he was now occupied with watching Aziraphale. This was among his favorite activities, and he didn’t generally like to have it interrupted.

  
There was another thing hindering him from sleeping, too: he was nervous. There was something he badly wanted to ask Aziraphale for, but he wasn’t sure how the angel would react, especially since it was….well, a rather _intimate_ matter.

  
It wasn’t that they’d never been sexually intimate before – they were married, after all – but the idea of suggesting that they try something _new_ made him anxious.

  
He’d had a talk about it over coffee with Livinia, his best demon friend, last week:

  
_“So,” he’d said, wringing his hands under the table, watching Livinia sip her cappuccino, “there’s a sort of…sexual thing I want to try with Aziraphale.”_

  
_Livinia had nearly choked on her drink. “Are you about to ask me for…sex advice?” she’d asked incredulously, holding a napkin over her mouth._

  
_“Not about the actual sex bit!” Crowley had said. “Just…how to broach the subject with him. I mean, how best to ask.”_

  
_Livinia had shrugged, with an expression that said she didn’t quite see what the problem was. “Just ask,” she’d advised him, ripping open a packet of brown sugar. “He’s your husband; he’s supposed to want to make you happy in any way he can, and all that, right? I mean, obviously, if he doesn’t like whatever idea you have – and I don’t need to know what it is, thanks – you’ll have to respect that-”_

  
_“Of course.”_

  
_“-but I’m sure he wouldn’t laugh at you, or anything. That’s not his style. So, just ask.”_

  
_Crowley had asked Livinia whether she’d ever had that kind of a conversation with her human boyfriend, Kevin. She’d paused thoughtfully, stirred her coffee, and then told him, rather cryptically, that the ‘just ask and explain what you want’ approach had served the two of them nicely._

  
And so, Crowley decided simply to take her advice and do it, before customers started arriving or he lost his nerve; whichever came first. “Aziraphale?” he asked.

  
“Yes, darling?” Aziraphale turned his full attention away from the bookshelf he was dusting and looked at Crowley. That, combined with his usage of the pet name ‘darling’ made Crowley’s heart throb with love, and he felt suddenly more confident.

  
“Do you remember back in ’43, when I tried to steal the holy water?”

  
Aziraphale froze. That particular piece of their history was a bit of a sore spot between them. Aziraphale had recently explained to him just how much it had hurt him that Crowley had put himself in danger without considering the possible consequences. Crowley felt a bit guilty for bringing it up again, but it was essential to the angel’s understanding of his request.

  
“Yes,” Aziraphale said slowly, eyes fixed on Crowley. “What about it?”

  
“Do you remember how you got quite angry with me?”

  
“Yes,” Aziraphale said again, looking much more worried now.

  
“Well.” Crowley swallowed. “Sometimes I think about that – you, angry, I mean – and I can’t help thinking that it’s…kind of hot.”

  
Aziraphale stared at him. Crowley resisted the urge to flinch under his scrutiny. “Hot,” Aziraphale repeated, deadpan.

  
“Yeah.” Unable to help himself, Crowley twisted his hands together, his characteristic nervous tic showing up. “I mean, it makes me a bit…well. It turns me on.”

  
Aziraphale was silent for a very long five seconds before saying, softly, “Oh.”

  
“And I was wondering,” Crowley went on, seeing little point in stopping now, “if we could take that into the bedroom. Or not _into_ the bedroom, necessarily, but you know, if we could incorporate it into our, ah, bedroom activities.”

  
Aziraphale took a step in Crowley’s direction. “Dear boy,” he said. “Do you mean…like a punishment?”

  
Crowley rubbed the back of his neck. “Sort of. I mean, that’s one way to think of it, I suppose. I know that I really hurt you that night, sweetheart. I know how angry I made you. So I thought this could be good for the both of us. I get to see you all angry and sexy, and you get to punish me a little.”

  
Something changed in Aziraphale’s gaze. He advanced on Crowley, and the demon saw lust beginning to cloud the beloved blue eyes. His heart did a little leap as he realized that he was going to get what he wanted…and probably sooner rather than later. “I could do whatever I liked?” Aziraphale asked in a low voice.

  
“Anything, angel. I’d be yours to control.”

  
Aziraphale moved still closer. “Stand up,” he ordered, not quite using his Principality Voice, but certainly in a tone of authority. Crowley stood up, a pleasant tingle already racing through him.

  
Aziraphale crowded him against the wall, and Crowley was reminded of the moment at the former hospital when he’d been the one putting the angel against a wall. He remembered how close they’d been, how inconveniently aroused he’d gotten, how badly he’d wished he could just lean in and kiss that exquisite mouth, how annoyed he’d been with himself for _wanting_ so much.

  
He was jolted back to the present as Aziraphale asked “Would you be amenable to starting now?”

  
Crowley felt his breath come short. He hadn’t expected this to happen _now_ , in the bookshop of all places, but as he watched the hungry look in Aziraphale’s eyes coming closer, hemming him in, he couldn’t imagine delaying it another moment.

  
“Yes; oh, yes-”

  
He was cut off by Aziraphale pressing against him just this side of too hard, fisting his hands in Crowley’s jacket, eyes burning. For a split second, an instinctive fear rose in Crowley; a remnant of how a fairly unimportant demon might expect to feel when cornered by a Principality, but it passed quickly.

  
“If I hurt you,” Aziraphale nearly growled, “or do anything you’re not ok with, tap me twice on the back of the neck with all four fingers.” He demonstrated on Crowley’s neck, two quick, sharp taps. Even that small amount of skin-to-skin contact pushed Crowley’s arousal further up the scale. “Do you understand?” Aziraphale asked.

  
“Yes,” Crowley replied, trembling with desire, already half-hard in his pajama trousers.

  
“Answer me properly,” Aziraphale all but hissed. “Say my name.”

  
“Aziraphale. I understand.”

  
“Title as well.”

  
“I understand, Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate.”

  
Aziraphale pushed still harder. “You could have _killed_ yourself that night, you stupid son-of-a-bitch.”

  
“Oh, I love it when you swear-”

  
“Shut up!” Aziraphale shouted. He tangled a hand in Crowley’s hair and pulled, hard. “Don’t speak. Don’t interrupt. If you do it again, I shall be _very_ put out. Do you understand?”

  
“Yes, Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate.”

  
“I’m going to kiss you now,” Aziraphale informed him, “and you _will not move_. You won’t touch me, you won’t kiss back, and you _won’t make a sound_. Is that clear?”

  
“Yes, Azira-mmph-”

  
Aziraphale dragged his mouth over Crowley’s, one hand in his hair and the other holding his hip. Crowley’s whole world seemed to shrink to contain only loose lips and hot breath as his husband kissed him hard, smashing their mouths together and thrusting his tongue past Crowley’s ready lips. Almost immediately, Crowley disobeyed Aziraphale’s instructions and tipped his head back, trying to give him better access-

  
_“I told you not to move!”_ Aziraphale cried, pulling his lips away from Crowley’s. Crowley barely managed to stop himself from whimpering. He stared at his husband’s red lips, wanting them back, craving them.

  
Aziraphale yanked on his hair and lunged for his exposed throat. Crowley bit his lip to prevent the moan building in his throat from escaping its bonds.  
Aziraphale began sucking on his neck and scraping it with his teeth. “You careless…selfish…irresponsible…disobedient… _unbelievable_ bastard,” he growled fiercely. Crowley squeezed his eyes shut. He was fully hard now, aching for contact, and the sharp pain Aziraphale was creating at his neck and scalp only made him want more. He pressed his lips together, struggling not to make noise.

  
“I’m going…to make this… _torture_ for you,” Aziraphale told him between harsh kisses on the most tender part of his throat, over his Adam’s apple. “You’re bloody well going to pay for what you put me through.”

  
Aziraphale pressed his forearm into Crowley’s neck, not enough to cut off his air, but more than enough to hold him against the wall. Crowley took the opportunity to glance at Aziraphale’s trousers, where a bulge made clear that he’d made an effort and was getting off on this just as much as the demon was.

  
Aziraphale leaned in and bit Crowley’s jaw, once. “Say you’re sorry.”

  
“I’m sorry, angel!”

  
“Beg me to forgive you.”

  
“Oh, please, angel; please forgive me,” Crowley groaned, his words tinged with a whine. “I’m so sorry; I need you to forgive me, please-”

  
_“This isn’t about what you need!”_ Aziraphale roared, beginning to glow around the edges just like he had in the church all those years ago, his divine anger showing through. “Tell me you’ll _never_ do anything like that to me again.”

  
“Never, angel, never. I’m so, so sorry, please-”

  
Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s jacket and dragged him in the direction of the chair he’d vacated earlier. He shoved Crowley onto it, none too gently. “Tell me how hard you are,” he ordered.

  
“I’m _very_ hard, angel.” His pajama trousers did little to hide it. “I’m rock hard; I’m fit to burst-”

  
“And burst you shall.” Aziraphale was undoing his trousers, and Crowley watched his hands work at them, watched as he pulled them down enough to put his own erection on display. “This is your punishment,” the angel went on. “You’re going to sit there and watch me pleasure myself, and you’re not going to touch me, or yourself at all. You’re just going to sit and watch and ache. Make as much noise as you want, though. It’ll make it better for me.” Crowley watched as his husband slowly began stroking himself. The demon licked his lips, wanting that gorgeous cock in his mouth.

  
“Do you understand?” Aziraphale asked, his voice already a bit breathy as he slid his hand up and down.

  
“I understand, Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate,” Crowley answered. He bit his lips, alternating between the upper and the lower, as he watched his husband throw his head back and pump himself faster. It was _agonizing_. He desperately wanted to be a part of Aziraphale’s pleasure; he wanted to feel the slide of his cock against his tongue, wanted to experience each shiver and gasp up close and personal…

  
Crowley was aching between his legs. Every instinct was screaming at him to rip his trousers off, grab his cock, and follow Aziraphale’s lead, or roll over and fuck the chair, or even just give himself a single stroke through his trousers – _anything_ for a bit of relief – but he didn’t. He took his punishment, watching Aziraphale’s beautiful, swollen cock slide through his fist, listening to his panting and moaning, straining forward for the best view without leaving his chair.

  
“Oh, _fuck_ , angel,” he said, “you’re glorious like this; I love you so much. I’m so sorry for what I did-”

  
“Crowley,” Aziraphale bit out, “look at me.”

  
His voice was gentler now. Crowley met his angel’s eyes. He was moving quite fast now, his hand a blur on his cock, but Crowley watched his face as he groaned “Oooh…I’m close…”

  
Anticipation, sweet and maddening, pushed Crowley further forward, watching, waiting for Aziraphale’s climax. When it came, the angel gasped and shuddered, and Crowley moaned in sympathy as he sank onto a chair to ride out his orgasm, his face flushed and his eyes closed.

  
When Aziraphale came back to himself, he smiled at Crowley and levered himself out of the chair. He miracled away the evidence of his recent masturbation and did his trousers back up, then came over to slide onto the arm of the chair Crowley was sitting in. The demon stared at him, unable to tear his gaze away.

  
“How was that, my dear?” Aziraphale asked.

  
“Incredible,” Crowley replied. He shifted in the chair, still hard and wanting. “You are beautiful, my avenging angel.”

  
Aziraphale smiled. “I enjoyed myself very much.” He slid into Crowley’s lap, making the demon hiss at the contact with his cock.

  
“Let me take care of you, now,” Aziraphale said, but Crowley waved a hand. “It’s my punishment, angel," he said. "I’m going to take it.”

  
“Oh.” Aziraphale looked a bit abashed, but only for a moment. “At least let me take care of your neck, dear one. I’ve left a terrible bruise-”

  
Crowley clapped a hand over the mark in question. “Don’t you dare heal it,” he said. “I want it there.”

  
“Oh, I won’t.” Aziraphale gently moved Crowley’s hand aside and began to lightly kiss the bite mark, soothing the skin. He did the same to the bite on Crowley’s jaw. Crowley shut his eyes, enjoying the feeling.

  
“Do you forgive me, love?” he asked quietly.

  
Aziraphale pulled back to look into his eyes. “I forgave you years ago, my darling husband.” He kissed Crowley on the lips, and Crowley kissed back, wrapping his arms around his angel. “I love you more than anything,” Aziraphale whispered, stroking Crowley’s hair with one hand and cupping his face with the other.

  
“I love you, too. Thanks for…indulging me,” Crowley said with a smile.

  
“Anything for you, my love. Anything.” 


	3. Let's Get Acquainted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale hurts Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's a fun fact: I sliced my finger today on a metal dry erase board and had to get three stitches, so I typed this with nine fingers, and it was not easy. Comment for my troubles?? ;)
> 
> Fair warning: this is not a happy chapter, but I promise that Chapter 4 will make it all better, and in the meantime, I've written plenty of more cheerful Good Omens fics you can read to cheer yourself up! 
> 
> As usual, your readership is appreciated, and comments and kudos are love <3 
> 
> -Julia

London, England, 1972

“An’ then – _hic_ – I shit you not, he says to me, doesn’t he, he says ‘you’ve got a lot’ve nerve, young man – _hic_ – ‘doin’ 100 miles per hour in a 60-mile zone.’ And I says to him, don’t I, I says ‘at least ‘m not the one whose engine’s turned into a – _hic_ – poison dart frog. Then I drove away, fast as you please, an’ left him to find the frog!”

  
Aziraphale giggled helplessly, clutching a mostly-empty wineglass in his hands, too drunk to be disapproving. “’s a true story?” he asked.

  
“’course it’s true. Wouldn’t lie t’you, angel.” Crowley drained his own glass, wiped a stray trickle of the deep red liquid from his face with the back of his hand, and reached for the bottle to fill the glass again.

  
“Why’d you turn it into a…” Aziraphale frowned, struggling to remember exactly what Crowley had said to him not forty-five seconds previously. “A…forest tree frog?”

  
“Poison dart frog,” Crowley corrected. He shrugged. “I dunno, do I; ‘s just what came to me mind. You ever seen one of them? Pretty things. Nice colors.”

  
“Dangerous, though.”

  
“Not if you’re – _hic_ – smart.” Crowley took another sip of wine, then put his glass aside and leaned back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. “’s nice to be here, angel,” he said. “Been – _hic_ – a while.”

  
“It has, yes.” Aziraphale stared into his wineglass, sloshing the dregs of the wine around. “You’ve been – _hic_ – well, I take it?”

  
“Oh, yeah. ‘M working on summat big. New motorway. Gonna be dreadful.”

  
“Shouldn’t’ve told me that. Might thwart you.”

  
“Naaaaah.” Crowley gulped his wine, spilling some of it on his collar. “Don’t think so. Remember the Arrat – the Arrent – the thing we agreed on.”

  
“Mmmm,” Aziraphale said. He drank the last sips of his wine and didn’t refill the glass.

  
Crowley picked the bottle up and waved it about. “Want s’more?”

  
“Not right now, thank you.”

  
Crowley put the bottle back down with a shrug. “Suit yourself.”

  
Aziraphale watched him as he continued to drink. His shoulder-length hair was messy, and he had flecks of wine on his shirt, which was nearly half-unbuttoned. Aziraphale felt himself flush as he watched the demon’s throat working, swept his eyes over the exposed part of his chest. He bit his lip. Not for the first time, he imagined burying his face in Crowley’s neck, tasting his skin, taking in the scent of him – leather and cologne and petrol and sweat.

  
The angel shifted awkwardly in his chair, feeling suddenly sober even though he hadn’t miracled the alcohol away. He hadn’t felt this way since the last time he’d seen Crowley, when he’d given him the holy water.

  
When he’d told him that he went too fast.

  
Aziraphale gripped the arms of his chair, feeling the cool leather against his bare forearms. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows, his tie was hanging loose around his neck, and he wanted to kiss Crowley.

  
He’d had far too much to drink.

  
Crowley sighed loudly, lounging on the couch, dangling his empty glass toward the floor. “Should do this more often,” he mumbled. “’s nice to catch up with – _hic_ – an old friend.”

  
 _Friend_. The word seemed to freeze Aziraphale’s blood in his veins. Fear shot through him, just like it had when he’d sat next to Crowley in his Bentley five years ago, thinking about how easy it would be to say _yes, please; let’s go to Bristol_ , to talk with Crowley as he drove and then surprise him with their first kiss at a red light.

  
No, this wouldn’t do.

  
“Well,” Aziraphale said, knuckles white on the stem of his glass, “an old acquaintance.” The phrase came out tremulous and uncertain.

  
Crowley’s fingers released the glass, which landed with a thunk on the carpet. His eyes, uncovered for once, were wide as he looked at Aziraphale. “Acquaintance?” he repeated, his voice thin. “Is…is that what we are? Nearly six thousand years, and you still won’t call us friends?”

  
Aziraphale didn’t move. Couldn’t move. He just stared at Crowley guiltily.

  
The demon bolted to his feet, then nearly fell over. He swayed, but managed to rebalance himself. “Angel – Aziraphale, I-”

  
“Crowley,” Aziraphale said brokenly, “please, let’s not.”

  
“After all the times we’ve saved each other? All the good times we’ve had? What do I have to do to be your friend, angel, hm? What do I have to do to be good enough?” He stared at Aziraphale with those lovely golden eyes, his expression begging for an answer.

  
Aziraphale had none to give.

  
Crowley ran a hand over his face, then picked up his sunglasses and roughly put them back on. He made a move in the direction of the door.

  
“Where are you going?” Aziraphale asked.

  
“Dunno. Away from you.”

  
“Crowley, please!” Crowley turned to face him, and Aziraphale shook his head helplessly, holding up his hands. “We’re still an angel and a demon,” he said, as if that explained it all.

  
Crowley’s face darkened. “You’re a coward, angel,” he nearly spat. “A bloody coward.” He stalked toward the door.

  
“Crowley!”

  
Crowley turned around again, his face and posture tense with anger and hurt. “I know what I’ve got to do to be your friend. I’ve got to be something, _anything_ , other than what I am. That’s it, hm? I’ve got to not be a demon. To not be _myself_. I’ll never be good enough for you. Never.” He shook his head. “I’ll just go, then. If that’s how it is.”

  
He made to leave, and Aziraphale knew that he couldn’t say what the demon needed to hear. Instead, he said “Crowley, you’re in no state to drive.”

  
“’M not gonna drive drunk. If it matters to you,” Crowley said, and he left the bookshop, slamming the door behind him.

  
Aziraphale stared at the door for several moments before slowly going back to his chair. He sat, his hands in his lap, his back stiff and straight. He rolled down his sleeves and buttoned the cuffs.

  
It was almost a full sixty seconds later that he broke down and began crying, head on his arms, leaning on his desk. Crowley had been right: he _was_ a coward. Too much of a coward not only to tell Crowley that he loved him, but even to admit that he _liked_ him.

  
Some angel he was.

* * *

Crowley leaned against his car, crossing his arms on its roof and burying his face in them. Not for the first time, he wished demons could cry, because it really felt like he needed to right now. He managed a few dry, frustrated sobs, but as always, no tears.

  
He supposed it had been too much to ask that Aziraphale, for fucking _once_ , acknowledge what they were to each other. Crowley had accepted long ago – well, not really accepted, but at least understood – that he’d never be able to pull the angel close and kiss him and tell him he’d fallen in love with him ages ago, but he’d thought he could at least count on Aziraphale’s friendship.

  
Evidently not.

  
He sucked in a shaky breath. Aziraphale had been right about one thing: he was too drunk to drive, but he absolutely didn’t want to sober up. He gave the Bentley an affectionate pat, then turned and began to walk down the street, trying to clear his head.

  
Crowley sighed. He wondered how soon he’d seek the angel out again and pretend that all was well. He doubted it would take very long. He needed Aziraphale more than the angel would ever know. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The thing with Crowley turning a cop car's engine into a poison dart frog was taken from the book Good Omens, although in the book, they never actually say what he turned it into, so I used my imagination!


	4. Remind Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: this chapter is extremely fluffy! Enjoy!

Aziraphale loved his husband more than anything, and he always noticed his moods. When Crowley was happy, he didn’t always smile, but his entire body became looser and more relaxed than usual. He was more demonstrative with his anger, which, being that he was a demon, was to be expected. An angry Crowley was tense, wound tight as a spring, and he sometimes growled, snarled, or even hissed. When embarrassed, he blushed (even though he swore up and down that demons were incapable of blushing) and ducked his head. When he got nervous, he was restless and twitchy, pacing and stammering and rubbing his hands together.

Aziraphale had learned all this in his six thousand years of knowing the demon, but his awareness of Crowley’s emotional state had increased in the year they’d been married, now that they lived together and saw each other every day. He was proud of his ability to read Crowley; he felt that it was something a husband should be able to do, out of love and respect for his spouse.

Sadness was a bit harder to identify, since demons couldn’t cry, though they sometimes sobbed in times of true emotional distress. Crowley wasn’t sobbing now, but Aziraphale could tell that he was feeling down by the way he slumped on the couch - not his usual lounge, but a true slump. Aziraphale couldn’t have explained precisely what the difference was, but he knew it when he saw it, and it was in front of his eyes now.

Crowley wasn’t talking, or doing anything really. Just slumping and brooding, his chin on his hand. Aziraphale approached him quietly, stopping just behind the couch.

“Darling?”

Crowley looked up. “Yeah?”

“Are you quite alright?”

“I’m fine, angel.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale sat on the arm of the couch and began to run his fingers through the demon’s deep red hair. Crowley leaned back a little, into his touch. Aziraphale worked his fingers deeper, massaging the back of Crowley’s neck with his thumbs, feeling his body relax a bit.

“Love?”

“Hmm?”

“Tell me what’s bothering you, or I’ll stop this lovely neck massage.”

Crowley sighed. He leaned back further, against Aziraphale’s legs. “Ok,” he said, “but fair warning: it’s stupid.”

“I don’t care.” Aziraphale moved his hands down to Crowley’s shoulders, digging his fingers into the muscles. Crowley moaned softly.

“Crowley.”

“Yeah.”

“Talk.”

“I’ve just been thinking,” Crowley said reluctantly.

“About what?” Aziraphale pushed his thumbs into the base of Crowley’s neck.

“Something you said a long time ago.”

“‘A long time ago’ could mean a lot of things, my dear. Are we talking Rome here, or last week?”

“1972.”

Aziraphale’s fingers stilled. “Oh,” he said. “When I called you an acquaintance.”

“I told you it was stupid.”

Aziraphale's fingers slid beneath Crowley's collar. "You know I didn't mean it, even then," he said softly. "I'm sorry it hurt you."

"It's ok, angel. I know you love me. I guess sometimes I just...need to be reminded."

"Well." Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley from behind and gave him a gentle hug. "I can help you there. Sit up, my dear."

Crowley sat up, and Aziraphale slid into his lap. He stroked both hands down Crowley's face and kissed his forehead, then moved to sit beside him and leaned over to whisper in his ear. "I love you," he said, and Crowley shivered. "You are my favorite thing about existence." He inserted his head into the spot between Crowley's neck and shoulder and began ghosting his lips lightly over the skin there. "There's a lot I don't understand about why things are the way they are, but I'm glad of it, because if things were any different, I might not have you."

"Mmmm," Crowley said, closing his eyes and leaning into Aziraphale. "You're so soft, angel."

"Because you melt me." Aziraphale laughed a little and began kissing Crowley's jaw.

Crowley smiled to himself as he enjoyed Aziraphale's lips on his skin. "Angel, did you ever... _want_ me, the way I wanted you? When you thought you couldn't have me?"

"The night you saved my books," Aziraphale said, his mouth at Crowley's temple, "I spent the whole ride home trying not to think about how much I wanted to kiss you."

"Oh, I wish you _had_ kissed me," groaned Crowley. "I really wish you had."

"Well, let me do it now." Aziraphale pulled away from Crowley's head and swung himself back into his lap, then guided their lips together. He kissed Crowley carefully, softly, and lovingly, with the lightest touch of lips. Crowley responded with a sort of stunned slowness, his mouth a step behind Aziraphale's, as though letting the angel lead him through this kiss that was more tender than passionate or hungry, and therefore a bit unnatural for a demon. Crowley had never denied his demonic nature, but he quite liked being able to step outside it once in a while, especially when it involved showing Aziraphale how deeply he felt for him. 

Aziraphale broke away from his lips, then hopped onto the arm of the couch and leaned down to start kissing the other side of Crowley’s neck. He brushed his mouth over Crowley’s ear. “I think the first time I thought about kissing you,” he said softly, “was when we met up in France in 1470, and you agreed to tempt that Heynlin chap into introducing the printing press there.”

“I was way ahead of you, then,” Crowley said, leaning his head back so that Aziraphale could get at his throat. “I was already thinking about it in Rome.” Aziraphale sucked lightly at Crowley’s neck, prompting a moan from the demon. “That’s it, angel. Give me a bruise.”

“Whatever you want, darling.” Aziraphale sucked harder and lightly nipped at the skin.

“Oh, I love you - _ooh_ , angel, that feels good.”

Aziraphale pulled away and smiled as he examined the mark he’d left on Crowley. “I adore you, my sweetheart. I’m not perfect, but I’m going to do my very best to ensure that you never feel unloved again.” He stroked Crowley’s face. “And if I ever fail in that endeavor, you can always tell me, and I’ll do what I can to make it right.” He kissed the demon’s forehead once again.

Crowley lifted Aziraphale’s left hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to his wedding ring. “I trust you, angel.”

“Feeling better now?”

“Much.”

“Good.” Aziraphale smiled. “What would you like to do now, my dear?”

Crowley smiled back. “I think I could do with a bit more kissing.”

“Well, I’d never deny you that,” Aziraphale replied, and brought their lips together again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that concludes yet another Good Omens fic! (Did I mention that I've written like seven other ones? Check them out if you haven't already!) 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed A Knife With a Serrated Edge. Please know that if you commented, left kudos, or subscribed, I appreciate you! Be sure to let me know what you thought of this chapter and/or of the fic as a whole. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Hope to see you in the next fic :) 
> 
> -Julia

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoying the fic? Let me know!


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